


And There is Nothing Left Remarkable, Beneath the Visiting Moon

by orphan_account



Series: My Teen Wolf One Shots [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Gen, Lunar Ellipse- Promo Response, M/M, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Spirit World, no spoilers of the episode just conjecture by me, we cool we cool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-17
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 19:30:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/930235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles looked off</p><p>Stiles looked like Death.</p><p>...</p><p>Scott prayed for Stiles' 'Stilesness' to kick in and break the silence. But his best-friend just stood still, breath flickering and body minutely shaking as he stared at the fire. At Jennifer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NO SPOILERS FOR 3X12
> 
> Stiles looked off in the Promo to me. Here is where my brain went.
> 
> Should I keep going?

“In this part of the story I am the one who dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, because I love you, Love, in fire and in blood.”  
\- Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets 

xxx

They hadn't seen Jennifer throw him.

They hadn't seen him step from his own skin.

…

The battle dust was stilling, clumping together and falling to the flaw in a soundless sheet. No one was dead, no one loved, but the stench of death hung like a cloud. 

Jennifer was dead, head parted from body by Derek and Peter when she had attacked as wounded Isaac and depleted Lydia. Allison burnt and salted the body as the others watched on, none moving for fear of breaking the moment.

The Alphas lead by a seriously angry and wounded Deucalion had left, minus Scott and Ethan. Their spirits were weakened as they left the forest clearing around the Druids Tree. They swore to see them all again, but no one moved to speak to them as the slunk away. No one could muster any words besides 'Fuck' and 'Crap'. And neither of those seemed eloquent enough to describe how mottled their futures looked. 

Minutes ticked by in the clearing, the silence only being broken by the spitting of the fire and Stiles pattering breaths. No one moved, just shifted. No one spoke, they were too lost in thought. No one touched, it didn't seem right to as they watched a woman who had once been them burn. 

“The Eclipse is over,” Peter breathed from his seat as far from Lydia as he could get, “We should be normal again soon … well, most of us.”

Derek rolled his eyes at his uncle. 

“I'm just saying-.”

“Please don't.”

Scott shifted, feeling ill at ease and too big for his skin. Something still didn't feel right, something else was itching at the back of his neck. He felt the sudden need to knock his shoulders against Stiles', to feel contact from the still shaking boy next to him. Their sessions in the tub had rattled Stiles more than anyone else, he had breathed in to much water and spent the most time under, he had been the hardest to pull back out of all of them. Not to mention how he had wrecked his car on the way to the Nematon and their parents. Scott wondered how he was still standing.

But their would be time for questions later, once they were safe and warm and fed, far from danger and together. They needed to be together properly now, if they were going to stand a chance against the ominous ambiguous 'Others' they were eventually going to face according to Deaton.

Scott sighed. He looked over everyone. He looked over his pack.

The three Hales were standing together, eyes too serious and sad for Scott to look at. Allison, Isaac and Lydia were righting themselves and struggling not to warm their hands on the fire. His Mom, the Sheriff and Chris were still pulling themselves together behind him, hands rubbing their bruises slowly as they silently took in their children. No one knew where to start.

Scott prayed for Stiles' 'Stilesness' to kick in and break the silence. But his best-friend just stood still, breath flickering and body minutely shaking as he stared at the fire. At Jennifer. 

Shockingly, Derek broke the silence.

“We should probably head home.” He spoke strong and clear to the disjointed group, his eyes holding Scott's without challenge, “We need to recover. We need to sleep.”

And that seemed to break them from their state. Whispers broke out as they all moved to help the less mobile to stand, helping each other waddle slowly towards their cars. 

Scott watched as the other moved smile crossing his face as he saw hi Mom lean heavily on the Sheriff, seeing Cora and Peter share Derek's exhausted weight, saw Isaac and Allison clasp Lydia's shaking hands while Ethan trailed hesitantly after them with a bowed head. He couldn't stop his chuckle at the surrealism of it all. Who would have thought all of them would be here with each other, especially like this?

Shaking his head Scott stepped after them. He ignored the itching on the back of his neck.

He really shouldn't have done.

“C'mon Stiles, you and the Sheriff can stay with us tonight.” He called over his shoulder, “Lets go home.”

Silence.

Stiles didn't say a word.

Scott frowned turning to face his friend.

“Stiles?”

He heard motion stop behind him as the others stopped to see where the two of them were.

Scott stepped back closer to Stiles, taking him in.

“God ...”

Stiles was shaking, hands almost a blur at his side and entire body trembling. His hair and clothes looked heavy and dark with water, and his usually vibrant eyes were dull and unfocused in his sunken face. 

He looked like death. 

God he looked barely alive.

“Stiles!”

His friend stirred then. His head moved slowly towards Scott's voice, face cast in black and white from the over hanging moon. Monochrome, broken only by the strip of congealing red down the side of his face. 

He looked at Scott, eyes distant and mouth slack.

“I ...I.” He spoke, voice scratched and faded.

“Stiles, what's wrong?” The Sheriff called frantically, Melissa's death grip on him the only thing keeping him stationary and away from his son. His son who looked more Shell Shocked than any Soldier he had served with all those years ago.

No one breathed, they could all feel it. Feel the heavy air pressing around them without feeling, and the earth shifting under them without moving. God, they could feel the wrong Stiles was emanating.

And then they saw. The moon light broke from its thin veil of cloud and shone down in its brilliance, white light illuminating the entire clearing.

Lydia screamed. 

Beside the Nematon stump was Stiles. Six feet from where Stiles was standing was himself, slumped over the Druid Tree stump. Crumpled and motionless, breathing unrecognizable, with a bloodied hand resting in the center of the Trees rings.

Scott choked and stumbled to his knees. He felt like he was having ans Asthma attack. He could feel his heartbeat in all his limbs, his breathing was too loud and the world wasn't real. How could this be real?

The Stiles before him splutters out more and more uneven breathes, streams of water moving down his arms and vanishing as it fell from him. He looked without seeing. He looked so afraid.

“Scott … I...I don't...”

“Stiles, what the hell-”

“I … I can't … go.”

“Please, just-”

“I have … to go. I … can't stay here … any more.”

“No! No, please-”

The specter before him shuddered, turning translucent for a breath before stilling once more. He was fading.

“I … look after my dad.”

The sobs and wails behind him didn't register behind him. Everything in Scott was burning. Everything that made him up was screaming. When he spoke it came out in a whisper.

“Stiles, please don't … please don't go..”

The specter smiled.

“...please don't leave me here alone.”

The smile grew.

“You're gonna be … the best Alpha,” Stiles spoke, skin losing consistency and shimmering, “Keep ...keep everyone safe … keep your heart close … don't screw it up.”

The pack watched as the moon was covered once more and the Specter that had been Stiles faded slowly, like fog under sunlight, slowly and surely, until nothing remained.

The Moon shone.

The Wind blew.

Their Blood pumped.

But as they all stood and wept without thought or sound, they all felt something break in their chests and disintegrate in their breathe.

They felt their hearts stopped beating. 

.

.

.

.

.

.

 

Until Stiles started to hum.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’ve learned that waiting is the most difficult bit, and I want to get used to the feeling, knowing that you’re with me, even when you’re not by my side.”  
\- Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes

xxx

A Nematon, like most trees, is impartial. It is unaware of the good and evil concepts of Man.

And, also like most trees, it is capable of great and pure mercy.

The boys heart was slow, slowing to the inevitable human death which would begin the boys next cycle. His bloody hand lay on her top, feeding her and spurring on her ancient magic, as men named it. The blood of more than a boy, or more than a virgin or a warrior or everything else this one was.

It was blood of the Loved.

Thick and heady, carrying a lazy tangy taste as it flowed into the rings of her body. Love, a feeling she had not felt in so long. Not in years.

And the images. She saw the world through the boys eyes. He was a brother to the True one, friend and defender of so many, he was a survivor of losing one of his origins, and he was ally to the boy with the sad blue eyes.

Blue eyes. 

Broken, damned, blue eyes.

_Derek._

The Nematon shifted, in the soil, in the air and in the spirits that clung to her. She called all she could muster, all the power The Dark Druid had given her, all the power from the land that the Unworthy Old Man had tried to burn from her, all the power emanating from the children of man that wept before her. She caught it all, pulling it in and squeezing it together until she felt it burn her insides. 

His heart skipped, and she felt his last breath hit her skin. Pulling the energy she pushed it up from her roots, pushed it through to her rings where the boy lay his hand, pushed it to reach his immortal soul.

_It is not your time boy_ , she tried to say through their connection, _you have work to do. You have to be there. You have to save them._

As she pushed and faded, the boys breath spluttered back to life. She felt his warmth against her skin as her power left her once again. She felt his spirit flowing through her. The boy was growing stronger, feeling off of her offered energy, he was still weak for a child of man but he would live. 

_You have to save my love._

xxx

**Beacon Hills Memorial**

**Three Months Later**

 

It was a sick and twisted thing that Stiles had only been able to truly pull all of them together, make them a pack, after he almost died.

Almost, being the key word they all chanted in their minds for three consecutive months.

They had watched as Scott rushed to the supposedly dead boy's side, smile breaking across his face as he shrieked his brothers heart was beating. They had all screamed or sobbed with joy, either internally or externally, as relief flowed through them.

The humming had not been Stiles, it was the Nematon. Peter had laughed and Chris had looked gob smacked as they resized what the tree had done for Stiles. What the wounded and broken tree, that should not still be living, had given Stiles. Derek, as he went to help Scott pick up the unresponsive boy safely, rubbed his knuckles along the trees outer ring. He would never know how it sung at his touch.

But, as time went by and they got Stiles to hospital their spirits were once again dashed. Stiles was breathing, his heart was beating, and his brain was functioning … but he wouldn't wake up.

A trauma induced Coma. The Doctor didn't know if or when he would wake up. Deaton was just as vague on weather the Nematon had effected his conciousness in anyway. 

So while 'Almost' played over and over again in their minds, so did the only phrase both doctors had to offer; “It's all up to him now.”

…

_Dark._

_Dark._

_Dark._

_He couldn't see anything from where he was._

_It was cold._

_Cold._

_Where?_

…

Through no organised scheduled they all made sure that Stiles was never alone. He always had fresh flowers beside his bed, his mothers quilt was always perfectly straight on top of him, and it was never too bright in the room. Everyday after School and on weekends those who attended Beacon Hills High visited Stiles, with Scott staying long after the others until his mother's shift ended. Every moment the Sheriff had off he spent at his sons bedside, often in silence. Even Chris and Deaton stopped by regularly, both attempting to find something that could help the fallen boy.

And Derek. Derek never left his side.

It was a strategic thing. The Alphas may have been weakened but they were not gone, hanging in their peripheral vision like a shadow. They were still a threat, and Derek was the only one (besides Peter) who didn't have obligations besides those to the pack. It was logical.

It had nothing to do with how Derek had spent the entire Summer with Stiles. Had nothing to do with how he was no longer an alpha, but he felt the need to protect stronger than ever. How Cora had left for London and an attempt at a normal life. How every time he stepped outside the Hospital his wolf would snarl and writhe because it couldn't hear Stiles heartbeat. 

He was protecting his pack mate. That was it.

That was so not it.

And that is where the former Alpha found himself. In his own chair beside Stiles bed, reading aloud to the boy. Rain was beating against the windows in the tell tale signs of the on coming winter. Vonnegut today, Derek's favourite.

He couldn't look at Stiles while he sat beside him. It was too much sometimes, to see the boy laying so still while he sat by unable to help. It made Derek's stomach turn... and flip and twist.

Sighing he dragged a hand over his face and paused his reading. He was exhausted. But he wasn't gonna go home. Not when Stiles couldn't.

“One of those days huh?”

Derek looked up and beheld a smirking Melissa. He smiled back. Neither of them were really smiling though, how could they?

“Seems like.”

The older woman sighed and stepped closer to the bed, gazing down at the sleeping boy with swimming eyes. 

Though she didn't say anything, Derek knew Melissa was taking Stiles' condition harder than most. Melissa had been close to Stiles' mother from what Derek understood, and had taken care of Stiles for a time while John was in mourning. Derek also knew that Melissa had regrets, that she felt in the last couple years she had been too harsh or cold to Stiles. She felt like she had left him behind in some way. Derek didn't think that Stiles thought any of these things were true, but guilt manifested in many ways. He knew that well.

Melissa looked at Derek then, eyes focused and bright. 

“You don't look good, Sweetheart.”

The younger man couldn't help but smile then and wonder exactly when the woman in front of him desired to adopt him in all but name and law. It was terrifying. Terrifying and warm.

“It was hard to sleep last night.”

“Because you are sleeping in that cruddy chair.”

Derek ducked his head.

“Nightmares.”

He felt Melissa's gaze, sensed her shift from chastising to sympathising. She cleared her throat and scuffed her shoes against the floor before she spoke next. She was going to change the subject to spare him, and he was grateful.

“So … John asked me on a date … I think.”

Derek squinted at her, taking in her bitten lips. He raised his eyebrows and she rolled her eyes.

“He asked to make me dinner. At his home. The house in which he lives, Derek, his home.”

“And...how do you feel about that?”

She hesitated.

“I am really happy about it. And scared. And nauseated. And really happy.”

“Sounds like a normal first date to me.”

She looked down at the bed.

“ ...Not really.”

Derek reached across Stiles too clasp her hand, a rare show of physical contact from the younger man. He was touched deprived, had been for years, but he still knew when other people needed something to ground him.

“Go to the Sheriff's house, and have a good time-”

“But-”

“Stiles wouldn't want you to put your life on hold because he is forced too at the moment.”

The woman held his eyes, eyebrows crooked. Her face screamed; 'Are you kidding me, Hale.'

Derek rolled his eyes, releasing her hand.

“Don't you have rounds to make, Mrs McCall?”

She rolled her eyes right back and Derek thought she looked exactly like his mother used to. She turned on her heel and strode towards the door.

“And maybe you should tell John about these things,” he called after her, “Instead of a man who has never had a successful relationship in his life and has been forced into a celibacy agreement by your son.”

He didn't miss the way she flipped him off as she left the room. And she didn't miss his almost silent, rumbling chuckles.

…

_I can't feel my feet._

__Where am I?_ _

__Dark_ _

__Dark and cold._ _

__God_ _

__I can't feel my feet_ _

__Derek?_  
…_

Three more weeks passed, and Derek barely moved. He stayed, ever guarding ever watchful, as Lydia had remarked. He could feel his charge catching up on him though, his mind slowing and always on Stiles. 

But that was nothing new. All Summer the boy had been trailing after him and leading him around, forcing him to do 'normal people things' in between looking for Boyd and Erica. He was persistent, and snarky, and annoying. And Derek would give anything for him to be around to do it all again.  
And maybe a little more. Maybe more things that his mind was torn in two about, things he swore he wouldn't let himself pursue ever again. 

Things he was 60% sure Stiles would be willing to do. Many many times, in many different positions. 

Shaking himself from his funk Derek stared down at the younger man in the fading sunlight. He frowned and placed the book down on the bed next to Stiles. 

“How could you possibly have done that?” 

He moved the thick and old quilt down to cover the boys feet, feet he was sure had been covered then minutes ago. Strange. 

Huh. 

He shrugged and picked the tattered old paper back once more, shift uncomfortably in his borrowed Scrubs. He had a recent and distinct hatred for Coffee now, thanks to Melissa. 

“Now here we go,” Derek spoke softly, “ _He was born with a gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad...._ ” 

As he read Derek didn't feel the air shift. 

He didn't see how Stiles fingers tapped along to the beat of his voice. 

… 

__Follow me into the light_ _

__Young one_ _

__Young one_ _

__This is not a place of dreams_ _

__And the world turns ever on_ _

__Follow me into the night_ _

__And run with the boy_ _

__With bright blue eyes_ _

_…_

Another week passed and the Doctors started asking questions about Stiles future. They all tried to to rally behind John, giving him shoulders to lean on and ears to talk to. But it was difficult. 

How could you support someone when all you wanted to do was curl up and never move again? 

Melissa kept them strong and Scott pulled them all together. Derek kept his post. He was almost out of books. 

But eventually the cycle he had set needed to alter. On a smoggy Thursday morning Derek left the hospital, mind set on a new set of clothes and a stop at Barnes and Nobel for the entire Harry Potter series. He was grateful Stiles wasn't awake to lecture him about not already owning them. 

He felt uneasy about leaving Stiles alone. Logically he knew that Melissa was on call and John was going to visit his son after his shift ended in an hour. Stiles wouldn't really be alone, no matter what his gut was telling him. 

So Derek got into his smart safe car and left for home, attempting to ignore the small burning itch at the back of his skull that was screaming at him to go back to Stiles. 

He really should have listened to it. 

_…_

_Running_

_What was it about running?_

_It was hard to remember_

_Breathing too fast_

_God, what was it about running?_

_Am I?_

_It's too bright_

_It's too much_

_Please_

_Catch me_

_…_

Blue and red flashing lights greeted Derek when he got back to the hospital. Blue and red lights, and the entire Beacon Hills pack and its extensions mulling around outside Stiles hospital room. 

Stiles empty hospital room. 

“No,” he breathed as he dropped his shopping bag without thought, “Please no.” 

Scott stood and the others eyes trained on the two of them. Ever since the shift in his status little had changed about Scott, maybe he was calmer and maybe he commanded more attention despite his efforts, but nothing was drastically different. But to Derek he was different now. They were brothers now, pack mates and friends. Well, kinda. 

“His scent disappears at the road,” Scott spoke low, not wasting time, “No one saw him leave or … anything.” 

“He- … how are we meant to find him?” 

Scott shook his head. 

“We … we have to do something, I know that, but we have nothing to go on.” Scott swallowed and stepped closer to the older man, “Derek... I am really-” 

“I know,” he interrupted, knowing he wouldn't be able to bear Scott- his alpha- saying how weak he felt, “Me too.” 

“But,” Scott sighed out, “We have … other problems.” 

Derek watched as Chris Argent came to stand before him, walk slow and shoulders tense. He was on edge and so was everyone else who watched as the Hunter reached out a hand … and gripped Derek's shoulder firmly. This was shaping up to be one strange day. 

The pack listened as Chris spoke, slow and calm as ever, and made all of the fear they had housed before grow ten fold. 

“Three hours ago I was checking the Perimeter of the Hale Territory, which as stated in the 1951 treaty agreement between the families Violetta Hale and Winifred Argent ends two counties over. I just so happened to have some business there. 

Unfortunately I came across something. 

My Father checked himself out of the care facility he was in several days ago and I have not been able to locate him since. I know for a fact he is out to gain strength and attack you all again. 

And from the way the trees are dying on the outskirts of the Hale territory, I can say with absolute certainty that he is pretty damn close.” 

Derek's mind swam. How had they forgotten Gerard, the murderous old man who had at one point threatened everyone in the pack in someway or another? How could he have missed the Trees dying? How could he have failed again when he had been doing all he could to win in that cramped hospital room. 

“What about Stiles?” Lydia chirped up, speaking what Derek had been about to growl out. 

The older Hunter sighed. 

“It wouldn't be the first time My Father has kidnapped an innocent for leverage. And it wouldn't be the first time Stiles filled that role.” 

The room temperature raised as everyone’s blood boiled, wolves struggling to hold in their growls and snarls. 

Melissa stepped forwards, face drawn from her rage and worry and recent sleepless nights. For a long silent moment she held all their gazes, like a general before her troops before she released them with the sweet words they had been waiting to hear. 

_“Kill the Fucker.”_

... 

__The Woods are not lovely_ _

__They are full of loves lost and given away_ _

__They are dark_ _

__They are deep_ _

__Silent protectors_ _

__Of a Magic_ _

__Humans fear too much_ _

__To ever name_ _

__The Woods are not lovely_ _

__They are my home_ _

_…_

Finding Gerard took three hours. The old man had enlisted a group of what Chris called Bastardised versions of Hunters to help his distract and hunt the pack and its allies while he used the Nematon. 

Yes. The Fucking tree again. Fuck. 

Gerard had been responsible for cutting the ancient tree down, in his years of blind blood lust before he sort to live above all things. He had taken an axe soaked in the blood of three different Druids and infused with Chinese mistletoe, to the tree and watched as it crumpled in on its self. Watched as all it's ancient power withdrew and hid where he could not follow. 

But now Gerard had Jennifer's ritual book, old and bound in supple leather and containing a very handy healing ritual. Along with some very nasty and potentially explosive curses and enchantments. Or so Deaton was adamant. 

Eventually the Pack was split, with Scott leading Allison, Lydia, and Derek through the woods. Chris was leading the Twins, Danny, the Parental team of the Sheriff and Melissa along with Isaac and a still suspicious Peter to divert and distract the Hunters. Giving them time to stop Gerard … if they possibly could. 

They found him standing over the Nematon, hands raised and dripping with an Ichor, deep red and black and stinking of death. He let ups gasping and gurgling words that sounded like a mixture of growls and taunts to the ears of the four new combers. It sounded evil. 

Allison raised her bow and Lydia had a hand on her phone, ready to once more be a beacon and call in the others if they needed them. Scott's claws and teeth showed instantly, but Derek kept his back. He needed to keep his head right now, or he may just get lost under the lure of the Wolf and attack the man without mercy. 

First they get him to give them Stiles. Then he gets to gut the old fuck. 

Something deep and old inside him rumbled and rolled around at the idea and he grinned darkly. 

The chanting stopped and the old man before them turned around to face them, smile huge and dripping under his crazed looking eyes. If he wasn't crazy before, the magic had defiantly made him so now. 

“Why, if it isn't the Beacon Hills Youth Patrol,” he cheered, “Here to give me an after School special?” 

Scott growled, low and deep like all Alphas could, sending a shock up Derek's spine that commanded him to crouch and be ready to fight and die in the name of his pack. 

Not yet. Not until we know. 

Not yet. 

“Step away from the Nematon, Gerard.” Derek spoke for them, calm for once, “You have no idea what power you are messing with.” 

The old man sneered and gurgled out a vindictive chuckle. 

“The Failure to his own race thinks he can talk to me about power?” 

Derek rolled his eyes and saw Allison pull her bow string tighter, feeling the air shift with at Gerard's arrogance. 

“I would rather not kill you,” Derek called, standing on par with Scott in attempt to calm the now snarling Alpha like he had with Laura so long ago, “And I know you don't want to die. So be agreeable for once; give us Stiles and we will not rip you limb from limb.” 

Gerard's face fell, frowning deeply and lowering his hands. 

“Stiles? The Sheriff's boy? Why on earth would I know where he is.” 

Scott roared, the wolf commanding his features as rage filled his veins and took control. Derek snarled as well. 

“We know you have him,” Lydia sneered back, “Do you really think us dumb enough to believe you doing this and him going missing on the same day is a coincidence?” She rolled her eyes, “Please.” 

The old man's frown deepened. 

“I don't have time for this meaningless chatter!” he yelled, “I have not taken your friend... but I guess in a few minutes that will be the least of your worries.” 

Scott stepped forwards, ready to rush the man and attack with the fury that had been building since Stiles had disappeared. Derek moved to go after him, ready to give in to everything the wolf was demanding, to rip and tear and feel the cool stickiness of another’s stilled blood- 

But- no. 

Neither had taken two steps nor had Allison fired a single arrow, when the scene before them changed. The wind left Gerard, hands scrambling for his throat as he fell backwards on to the Nematon's stump, attempting to gasp for air as his eyes bulged and his skin constricted. He kicked and scrambled as an invisible forced appeared to hold him down, binding him to the stump. 

“What?” Allison asked over her grandfathers gurgling gasps. But they had no reply to give her. 

Until one stepped from the shadows, washed green scrubs scraping cross the underbrush and pale skin all but shining in the moons light. His eyes looked glazed over as he sauntered limply towards the stump, hospital band hanging from his thin wrists. 

Stiles. 

No one could move, no words came except the exultation of his name over and over again. 

But he didn't look at them. 

He did not tun his head or move towards them. He stood over the old man and was still for a long windless second. 

“Stiles...” Derek breathed finally, “Please.” 

The boys head snapped to him then. And Derek's stomach rolled. His usual whisky coloured eyes shone a bright, unnatural purple. 

“Not Stiles.” Lydia breathed, clawing at Scott's arm to hold him back. 

They couldn't move, could only watch, as the Thing In Stiles looked down at Gerard, cocking its head to the side and staring with unblinking gaze. When it spoke it was not Stiles voice. It was deep and old and coarse, as though it had not been used in millennia, and rumbled through their bones in a silent thunder. 

“Destroyer. Old man and hunter of the children of Lucian and Adam and all in between. Corrupter and heathen. 

You stole from me. You took from me and burnt from me. 

Your harmed my charges and destroyed my earthly visage. 

You are a waste of a child of man. Guilty and Murderous. 

And I am Older than Mercy.” 

Gerard screamed, struggling again with more fury and attempting to beg. His face was changing colour rapidly. Around them the stillness broke, the wind coming to life suddenly as all the trees rustles almost as if in agreement with the Things words. With its ruling. 

The Thing in Stiles body reached out its arms, palms down towards the man at his mercy. The Wind whipped quicker and quicker and yet the things voice could be heard over the howling, clear and crisp as though whispering in their ears. 

“In the name of the Sky and the Old soil I name you enemy … and judgement is paid.” 

With a crack and a creak the stump under Gerard, thick black and brown limbs reaching up around him and twisting over and together. Twisting, creaking, cracking, until the wind stopped … and the Nematon was reborn. 

“Shit ...” Scott breathed, face ashen and in awe. The other three nodded their agreement. Shit, indeed. 

Derek, not meaning to stepped forwards and the Things attention once again snapped to him. 

Its head tilted before straightening, lowering its arms as it stepped forwards towards them, eyes never leaving Derek. 

“His spirit will return to the cycle. The torment of his person is over.” 

Derek didn't understand, but he nodded anyway. 

“The small one with us misses you,” Its all but whispered out, words carried only by the stillness of the wind, “She commanded we save the boy so as to spare your heart. She remembers your blue eyes.” 

Derek gasped, loud in the silence, as the other looked at him confused. 

“Paige..” 

The thing nodded. 

“Our blood debt to the Hales still stands. We failed and must atone for that.” 

“We just want Stiles back,” Derek pleaded, beyond caring about the crack in his voice or the burning at the back of his throat, “Please, give Stiles back to us.” 

The Thing closed its eyes. 

“It is done.” 

The leaves rustled once more, and when Stiles opened his eyes they were warm whiskey once again. Without warning the boys body tipped forwards with a groan from him, causing Derek and Scott to catch him before he hit the ground. Allison and Lydia rushed to his side, checking his vitals and texting the others the events of the past few minutes. 

With a grunt Stiles rolled his head from Derek's shoulder and mumbled nonsensical words into his heart. Scott grinned goofily at them and Derek (affectionately) told him to cram it. That only made him grin harder. 

Derek didn't care. Stiles was back, warm and heavy in the older man's arms. So very alive, and so very much home. 

… 

_It didn't take Derek three months to give Stiles the box set of Harry Potter books in new edition hardback. They fell asleep reading them together._

_It didn't take three months for Stiles to push him against a wall and kiss him until he couldn't breath. They may have fallen asleep doing that together as well._

_It didn't take three months for Derek to finally put down roots in Beacon Hills again. To actually live again._

_It took three months for him to get back to the Nematon though. He thanked it softly, and when he trailed his hand over the bark it felt as soft as a kiss._

_Stiles laughed behind him. The leaves rustled. And they lived. God did they live._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laptop finally fixed yay! enjoy the LAST chapter


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